Rotfang conspiracy
by ivygrah
Summary: Ministry was in chaos as the word got out that two prisoners escaped from Azkaban. Amelia Bones tries to capture them when she uncovers the frightening truth behind Bellatix Lestrange. And just what Rotfang conspiracy has to do with it?


An excerpt from pages of 'Behind the scenes' by Bathilda Bagshot and Rita Skeeter in cooperation with Amelia Bones. (1995, Flourish and Blotts)

... That secret society was especially terrifying. Those who really, truly knew what they were on about, despised them with great passion. Those who knew about them wanted that fraction of society to be burned, chopped to peaces, destroyed - that was how deep the fear and hate ran. Others, who knew about them, tried warning the rest not to take any actions against them as that would surely lead to unpleasant fate. They caused paranoia. People began to see them in every single co-worker, in their friends, they stopped trusting each other.

There were also those who admired the way they covered their tracks, the way they moved through political horizons - like invisible force, that bended everything to it's favor.

Oh, the power, the mystery, it caused many to grow more and more curious. The tales about them fed people's imaginations.

The rumours were unbelievable. The tales that those aware of them thought as truth, were regarded as insane by the sceptics. Surely even if a secret organization existed it wouldn't thrive to overthrow the ministry from within, would it?

The tales about them, about their involvement in the war, about the way they were using muggles to reach their means were unbelievable. Which is why most disregarded them as children's tales and those who claimed to know what they really were conspiring were treated like madmen.

And of course there were those who simply didn't care as they continued to live their sheltered, fake lives.

This was one of the reason why I, Rita Skeeter, along with dear Batty [Bathilda Bagshot] had decided to really uncover the truth about this conspiracy and how it was and is involved in our world.

Lovely Amelia [Bones, Head of DMLE] had herself testified that everything written here is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Rotfang conspiracy really did (does?) exist and it's power was frightening but if this organisation hadn't got involved in Ministry's affairs, Lord Voldemort would have stepped out of hiding and destroyed everything we ever worked for. ...

* * *

1993, 25th of July. Minister's for Magic office, British isles.

Cornelius Fudge was not in his best mood. His third year as Minister for Magic turned out to be especially complicated: Lucius Malfoy and him had a disagreement (which cut the Minister off from his funds), Dumbledore was once again refusing to disclose what really had happened at Hogwarts and he even discouraged (read:prohibited) for Fudge to meet Harry Potter. This disrespect of Dumbledore's really started getting to him.

Moreover, Bones, the bint, had implied that he, the Minister, was neglecting his duties by refusing to visit Azkaban for bi annual check up.

Which Fudge was, though he would never admit to it. Azkaban was a place of nightmares and no one in their right mind would want a tour in that place.

However, the bint insisted Fudge needed to go there, inspect the level of security and state of prisoners, she said. As if he cared! Minister had planned for a firewhiskey-filled weekend and some card games with his old comrades, but no, Amelia Bones, head of DMLE (Who needed that department nowadays, anyway?), insisted that it was his obligation as a minister.

"Cornelius, it's your duty to our people." The minister said mockingly to himself, impersonating Bones, which made the old wizard in the only painting shake his head and make a coocoo gesture with his hand.

The minister sighed and went to the floo, throwing some floo-powder in the flames.

"Auror headquarters!" he shouted as soon as he managed to position himself in the narrow fireplace and was taken away.

* * *

1993, 26th of July. Azkaban prison, Unplottable island, Northern Sea.

The Minister Fudge was walking with his auror escorts through the halls of only British magical prison. They already 'visited' the lower levels, where the less dangerous prisoners were held and now they were approaching the cells with highest level of security.

Fudge almost wet himself a few times during the visit (encountering a Dementor was one of those episodes, that drunkard who so-called negotiated with dementors, the only one who could stand them, was unconscious out there amidst the maze of stone corridors.) but what was coming was entirely different.

Fudge was approaching cells where mass murders, Death eaters were held and he couldn't bail. Mostly because Williamson was Bones's spy and would surely comment about minister's cowardice to the bint's immense pleasure. Bones really was infuriating, few times Fudge even thought that she was after his position but then decided that the old hag would never give up her department. She apparently liked working to enforce the law. Ridiculous.

As Minister and his escorts approached the entrance to highest security cells, Fudge looked up at Dawlish, masking his fear with a frown.

"Is this it?" Fudge asked, unnecessarily, and motioned for Dawlish to go first. The auror straightened his shoulders as if mentally preparing himself and went in. The prisoners (who weren't silent before, most of them muttering insane things) started cat-calling as the Minister and aurors went by, shouting insult or simply cackling. Some of them were sprouting profanities or threats (a certain Lord was mentioned more than once).

Minister gripped his Daily Prophet tightly, the one he brought just to distract himself from all this though there was nothing interesting in that issue - a Weasley had won some galleons which to Cornelius meant that his employee would maybe look a tad more decent because all those rags he wore certainly didn't do much for Ministry's image. And if this news merited for being mentioned on the first page than there certainly wasn't anything interesting enough that could distract Fudge from the grim and frightening reality of Azkaban.

Suddenly Dawlish grabbed Minister's arm, startling him. Fudge scowled and was about to berate the auror about it but Dawlish muttered, gesturing in the direction of the following cell.

"Sir, The second cell to Rookwood's" he motioned at the sleeping inmate "is Black's." The way Dawlish hissed the name of most infamous dark wizard gave away what the auror was really feeling. Minister Fudge, while not the sharpest of men, recognised the reaction for what it was. If an auror, trained to battle and catch darkest of wizards, was scared of Black, then how a minister, who ultimately was a paper pusher, could be calm when dealing with him? Minister's eyes widened almost comically, he glanced at Williamson and another auror, both of whom were looking a bit uncomfortable.

Black was insane but Minister trusted Azkaban's defences. After all, Black has been imprisoned for more than ten years, there was no way he could still be functioning enough to even comprehend what a minister was. Fudge glared at Williamson (he wanted Williamson to cower but knew he never could put off the menacing glare), thinking it was Bones fault and marched to the next cell his gaze immediately meeting the cold, grey eyes that were glazing at Fudge through mane of dirty, flea covered hair.

Sirius Black, or what was left of him after all those years smiled humorlessly.

"Visitors?" His gaze followed the aurors, his voice hoarse. "How.. nice. Say, can you do something about Lestrange? The bitch keeps on screaming about her innocence, it's annoying." Black's gaze was piercing and it made Fudge terribly uneasy. Black almost seemed sane (if you discounted his feral grin), too sane, in fact. Fudge opened his mouth, not sure whether to reply or not, but Black didn't wait for the answer.

"Is that the Prophet? Might if I have a look? The entertainment here's severely lacking, I should file a complaint." He said sardonically and the minister, still shocked (as he was face to face, if you disregarded the bars, with the most dangerous killer in this ward) shook his head and threw the paper on the cell's floor.

As soon as his bony, filthy fingers took the paper, Black buried himself in the text, shutting the Minister and aurors out completely. Fudge shook himself from the daze and continued his tour. For once in his life Minister felt relieved that he was disregarded as unimportant. It was, ultimately, better not to catch attention of a mass murdered, no matter behind bars or not.

* * *

"Who is in that cell?" Minister pointed to the cell furthest from them. Fudge had an inkling but he decided he would check anyway. It was Williamson who answered.

"Lestrange, Minister. It's the cell of Bellatrix Lestrange." Williamson's words held obvious hate though he was trying to compose himself.

Fudge, maybe because of his meeting with most deranged killer there was in this prison, felt a bit more courageous. Maybe his ego got out of hand or maybe it was just a foolish decision but instead of deciding to say he had inspected all Azkaban and that there was no reason for him to stay there anymore, he decided to head to the last cell that hosted Bellatrix Lestrange, most faithful servant of You-know-who.

Minister, as if obsessed by some stupid idea went to see the infamous witch. Somehow, it was Black's fault, saying that she annoyed him or that she claimed innocence (which itself was so unlike her since she was proud of killing in the name of her Lord) it made minister curious. As he approached the cell's bars he heard some movement.

Healthy distance away he looked at the prisoner who seemed to be studying him intently. Lestrange's dark eyes scanned Fudge from head to toe, only stopping at the sight of his wand that Minister held in his hands (that weren't trembling). After few minutes of intense staring, the prisoner gazed at the aurors who trailed after the Minister.

Finally, as if coming to some conclusion Lestrange grinned, making Minister and his escorts shiver. She was mocking them. Finally she spoke, her voice raspy and unpleasant.

"Really?" She asked rhetorically. "Wizards?" Fudge frowned in confusion. Is she insane? She almost sounded incredulous, as if she had forgotten magic... Minister was thrown. He had expected her to start calling him names, making threats in the name of He-who-must-not-be-named but she did no such things.

Instead Lestrange shook her head her black eyes widening for a minute, childlike wonder (the comparison made Minister cringe, she was a killer, for Melin's sake, not someone innocent like a child) showing through her eyes.

Bellatrix Lestrange studied the visitors for a minute and minister, who was already tired from his visit as the Adrenalin was wading off, narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"Lestrange, you might want to quiet down." Fudge said through his teeth, trying not to look at her eyes (he couldn't appear to look weak in front of Williamson) "Other prisoners are complaining and aurors here won't have other choice but to make you - mute."

At that moment minister felt powerful, like a brute felt the rush of power when he kicked the one who was down and defenceless. He, Cornelius Fudge, who was (though he never admit to it) a wizard of moderate capabilities at best of days, was handing threats to Dark Lord's most trusted killer and torturer.

Because Fudge was having a moment with his ego, he didn't notice the look of shock that appeared on Lestrange's face after he addressed her. Aurors, who avoided looking at her at all as if she had some power to curse with her gaze, didn't see it either. But if they had, they would have concluded she was really insane because her reaction at her name was, for the lack of more accurate word, crazy. For a moment or two she looked like she was incredulous at being addressed as Lestrange, like she didn't know it was her own name. Like she had no idea who she was.

The tense silence was broken when Lestrange spoke up, her voice void of any emotion.

"It's funny, Fudge." She said his name without hesitation, shocking the minister as he was convinced before that she was insane. Unknown to Minister, the prisoner was just guessing but Fudge's flinch confirmed his identity.

"Do people know about the bribes you take regularly?" Lestrange asked making Minister pale "You're not so different from death eaters, are you? Preferring purebloods, dismissing others. Say, how Umbridge is doing? Did she pass her anti-werewolf act yet? What about your dogs here?" She motioned to the aurors who were stunned by her words more than her attitude as every sentence that she worded made Minister hunch more and more "Do they know how truly corrupt you are? Do they care?" She chuckled sardonically and Minister felt humiliated but before he could answer Lestrange inquired.

"Is it ninety-three?" The question was so out of the blue, almost as if she was changing the subject. Her steely gaze focused on the aurors and Dawlish scowled, his palms crunched into fists at his sides. Dawlish was barely controlling himself, he was, after all, one of those who knew what Lestrange could do personally.

"You insult us and the Minister and you dare ask what year it is? And you expect us to simply obey you, you murderer!" His exclamation made other prisoners react and once again they were drowned in the sea of insults and screams. Lestrange's shoulders started shaking from poorly controlled mirth. Fudge was furious too, but he had more self preservation than to call her on her behaviour, even if Lestranged was behind bars of most protected prison.

Savage, the third auror who accompanied them but was silent for most of their visit, took out his wand and silenced the whole corridor.

Bellatrix Lestrange regarded him with calculating gaze and for a moment they were string at each other, neither breaking the gaze.

"Is it?" She repeated her question and Savage, his posture apathetic as he tucked his wand in his holster, answered curtly.

"It is. Summer, in fact." The other aurors glared at him and Minister looked dubious but Savage only shrugged indifferent as if to say what harm could it do. Lestrange nodded to herself and glared at the minister once again.

"You won't be in that office for long, you know." Lestrange, formerly Black, stated with absolute conviction and Minister, red in the face, turned around and stormed as fast as he could from her cell down the corridor, hoping to escape that - place, not even caring about what Williamson would report to Bones anymore.

* * *

1993, 14th of August. Number 12, Grimauld place. London.

Kreacher the house elf was scrubbing the silverware belonging to most ancient and noble house of Black once again when he felt it.

It was like someone was tugging his guts, a distinctly unpleasant sensation, and at the same time it felt tingly. The house elf who for such a long time was alone with only a portrait of his mistress and Sir Niggelus as a company felt very lonely and this tingly tugging familiar feeling startled him.

The ancient elf recognized it as a feeling when someone was summoning him but it seemed that they (whoever they were) couldn't reach him as if something was blocking them.

Kreacher felt excited (as much as a house elf of his age and mentality could) since it meant that there was a master somewhere and he needed Kreacher to assist him. The elf felt hope that maybe, maybe master Regulus was returning. That maybe he survived...

The house elf tried to follow the tugging feeling, the silverware long forgotten, but he felt magic blocking him every time. It only made the elf (whose life ambition was to serve the Blacks) more determined.

After number of tries the elf finally succeeded, as if the block was surpassed or something similar and disappeared with a crack.

* * *

1993, 14th of August. Azkaban prison, somewhere on an unplottable island in the Northern Sea.

Life at Azkaban had gotten pretty interesting these past few weeks. Sometime after Minister's visit, one of the most ruthless of killers - Sirius Black- had escaped from the most guarded cells, escaped dementors, who were thought to be impassable guards. The frightened aurors, mostly newbies as those more experienced were focused on finding Black, questioned other prisoners one by one, parading the place with the air of self-importance that quickly evaporated when they encountered Dementors.

There was quite a competition when they had to question Bellatrix Lestrange. A competition to not be that one to interrogate her, that is, as none of them wanted to do it and that was a problem. Whenever they passed her, she stared at them with unreadable yet amused eyes and a small smirk fixed on her ragged face.

The newbies avoided her like a plague. Lestrange, once a ruthless killer and master of torture, now she was insane, she had to be and yet she never acted like it. That, in the eyes of freshly baked aurors, was especially terrifying. Her indescribable disposition.

Nymphadora Tonks, who was just out of her 'training wheels' as her muggleborn father remarked, had managed to make her colleague to swipe their place as out of enormous curiosity (and lack of self-preservation) she wanted to be the one who questioned her aunt. Her relation to that prisoner was another reason why she was bold enough to do it.

Because of 'conflic of interest' Nymphadora couldn't do perform an interogation officially but Tonks was never one for the rules and what her superiors didn't know couldn't hurt them, right?

Tonks strode purposely to Lestrange's cell. It took some time but the prisoner finally took a look at her.

The empty gaze made Tonks shiver and her hair turned blue uncontrollably. Lestrange stared at her hair for a while but then arched her brows.

"A metamorphmagus? Why on earth would you parade your ability publicly? Can't you control it?" She questioned, making Tonks uncomfortable and even slightly embarrassed.

"I'm here to question you about Sirius Black." Tonks said, ignoring Lestrange's inquiry.

"Don't know, don't care." Lestrange answered, not looking at the young auror. "Is that all?"

Tonks attempted to hide her course she wouldn't tell her anything, they were probably in cohorts with each other as two of the You-know-who's most trusted. Tonks even would go as far as to say Lestrange counted on Black to help with her escape, even if that seemed impossible. Why there were people like them anyways? Torturers, Murderers?

"You remind me of someone I once knew, auror. Is it really your place to question me, blood-traitor?" Lestrange stated, her insult almost sounding ironic.

Tonks felt small and scared. You remind me of someone...Blood-traitor... Did she know? How could she know? Did Lestrange have any idea that Tonks was her niece?

* * *

After the aurors had finally left Azkaban to mercy of the dementors, they left disappointed as not one prisoner had known anything about Black's escape and his present whereabouts.

The proverbial storm had calmed down but not to one particular prisoner.

No, if anyone would have seen Bellatrix Lestrange as she tried hundreds of lumos, relashio and reducto wandlessly, they would have known something was up. After n-tieth attempt Lestrange finally managed to perform a relashio and get free from the chain on her leg.

And then she tried to squeeze herself through the bars unsuccessfully, even with her skeleton showing through her skin being too wide from whichever direction. Bellatrix Lestrange was trying to escape, after more than ten years of imprisonment.

A psychologist might have said something about rivalry between relatives as if it explained her urge to escape as her cousin did.

It took some time for her to think of it but then she realised the most obvious solution. She could summon a house-elf. Now, since she was imprisoned who knew what had happened to elves that belonged to Lestranges. In the end she thought of Walburga's old house-elf, Kreacher and began calling him.

CRACK!

the thing that appeared in front of her was small and wrinkly, it's huge eyes stared at her for the longest time (she realised that her position must have looked weird even for a house elf as her head got stuck between the bars as she was kneeling)

"Kreacher?" She asked and the elf started.

"Mistress Bella?" So he did know her. She attempted to smile but the position she was in made it difficult.

"Mind helping me there, Kreacher?" and the elf nodded clicking his fingers and making the bar disappear, her head almost colliding with the floor without support.

"Fuck!" She cursed and took a few calming breaths as not to lash out on the house elf unnecesarily. She looked up to see the elf staring at her, fearful.

"Could you take me to Grimauld place, Kreacher?"

The elf nodded and she was flooded with relief.

* * *

1993, 20th of August. Diagon alley, London.

Harry Potter was having the best summer so far. He was away from his demented relatives and was spending the remainder of summer vacation among wizards. Sure, there were downsides - two prisoners, Voldemort's followers, escaped from Azkaban - which was never done before but asides from that nothing happened. There was some panic and aurors (Tom, the bartender told Harry about the heightened security) still seemed to follow Harry around whenever he left his rented room but otherwise it was a good summer.

People were constantly gossiping about the escapees though he didn't manage to learn much about either of them (asides from them being insane killers who were completely devoted to Voldemort), everyone seemed to think he was too young to hear about it.

Now Harry was walking to Fortesque's (the old man was very nice and gave him free ice cream whenever he passed the parlour), staring into windows of shops, thinking about his best friends (whom he missed) when he collided with someone, almost falling on his arse but was stooped by unfamiliar hands grabbing his shoulders.

His eyes met the blues, belonging to the person he barged into.

She was a young woman, dressed like a muggle and her blue eyes seemed to be laughing.

"A little over exited, don't you think?" She spoke and Harry noted that her accent was American, not British. 'She must be a tourist', he thought, which was strange to Harry since he never before even thought about the fact that there must be wizards all over the glove, not only Britain. A fact Hermione would bemoan about if she ever found out.

"Sorry." He apologised but the woman didn't seem to be angry. She waved her hand in a dismissing gesture and laughed.

"It's fine." But then she looked curious and inquired "Do you go to Hogwarts?"

It was clear, Harry decided, that she was as curious about him as he was curious about her.

"I start my third year in the fall." He answered and felt weird - he never felt comfortable with strangers before and rarely was talkative about himself.

"That's nice." The foreigner smiled "Me-" She waved her hands vaguely "I'm just visiting." She stated and looked around, taking in the posters of escaped criminals "But it seems I chose not the best of times." Harry nodded and was about to ask if she was an American or about the wizarding school she graduated from when the woman straightened out, dusting off her clothes.

"I have to go. Have a nice semester, Harry" She said in one go as she turned on her heel, disapparating, making Harry's jaw drop.

He was amazed that even Americans knew about his 'boy-who-lived' legend.

Or at least that was what he thought.


End file.
